individualists? more like angry teenagers
by Hadley Natsworthy
Summary: wow new fic wow/also there is some swearing but not much/ocs galore
1. wow how emo are you, narrator?

When I was eleven years old I cried a lot. It wasn't the loud, dramatic crying you did in front of people to make them feel bad, it was the shaky breathed, watery, trembling crying you did curled up alone and away from the world. I didn't like Hogwarts. I hated it. A Slytherin? I couldn't be a Slytherin. I didn't want to be a part of the evil house. All those years running around with Joel and Ellie, making fun of their brother Lysander for being Slytherin, and it turned out I was one as well? I was as bad as him? What did I do? Where did I go wrong?

I was used to feeling reasonably content. I was used to being assured of my worth, assured of my place in the grayish hills and browning grass that stretched out behind my house. And then I was in a weird place with weird people with pictures that talked and stairs that moved and I was one of the evil ones that no one wanted to talk to. When the Sorting Hat called out my house, Joel's face was crestfallen, but Ellie looked impassive. Maybe she wasn't paying attention at all. She spaces out a lot. But when it was her turn, she looked slightly disappointed to have to walk towards the Ravenclaw table and not the Slytherin one. Joel looks even more torn when they call Hufflepuff for him, and so the three of us were unhappy and miserable for the first weeks of school.

For one, Joel is the last person I would have ever put in Hufflepuff. I had always thought- but never said aloud- that he'd fit with his brother in Slytherin. And Ellie hates reading. I don't know if she _can_ read. We don't belong in the houses we'd been placed in. Maybe the Sorting Hat is broken. Well. _They_ got over it. I just don't get over things that well. I'm a baby. Things bother me for a long time after they happen.

Lysander Hart decided to make it his mission to make me upset everyone he saw me. He succeeded because despite the fact that I'd spent my entire life making fun of him, I still liked him. He was cool and self possessed and quietly attractive in a way I didn't understand and was not entirely comfortable with. It was like he always changed, his face shifting and his posture twisting depending on who he talked to. I wanted to know what he was but I couldn't because he wouldn't do anything other than piss me off.

As twelve year olds Joel and Ellie and I would meet whenever we could, kids sneaking out in the dark, going outside to the quidditch pitch when it was warm enough, huddling together in the library, reverent whispers and giggles filling the still cool, dry air. When we were too tired we would stumble, in a sort of drunken exhaustion, back to our dormitories, but sometimes we were too tired and crash in someone else's common room. I found myself in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw common rooms more than the Slytherin one.

As thirteen year olds Ellie was angry and distant and would vanish into the Ravenclaw dormitories before we could talk to her.

"She can't read," Joel tells me. "That's why."

But I liked Ellie and I wanted her back in the small, shadowed spaces we claimed as ours. Joel and I sat in those places, curled into each other out of fear of the yawning, cavernous space that used to hold Ellie. I guess that eventually Joel and I just started to find different places, places for two and not three.

As fourteen year olds Joel was surly and offensive and would be as gentle as he was rough. But all the same, he would keep meeting up with me. He was forward and didn't have any qualms about telling me things outright, and at first I appreciated it, then I wished he would stop.

"I love you," he'd say sometimes, and then in the same breath he'd snap at me to shut up and say that he didn't know why he put up with me at all.

As fifteen year olds I dreaded the meetings more than school itself, and I was alone because I hated what the three of us had become. Nothing special. That was all we were. Boring, angry at ourselves and sad that we were angry. I stopped going, and I don't know if Joel did as well. Maybe he sat out there, by himself, in spaces meant to fit one. I found my own space, and it was up in the astronomy tower. I liked stars. I hated how dark and closed in the slytherin common room was, and plus the astronomy tower is the farthest you can get from the dungeons.

And well... wands. I hated wands. I couldn't _use_ one. It wouldn't work. I could feel that it was going to, but then it never would. Always disappointed. I slouched in the back of my classes and hid the best I could.

Lysander called me a squib, and I told him to fuck off and snuck up to the astronomy tower, upset- but too proud to admit it.

Everything was _wrong_. There was no more life where I didn't have to worry about things, there was only me second guessing everything I did. There weren't anymore friends, there was only sickening swings between too-loud laughter and angry screaming. There weren't carefully planted rows of lavender behind the Hart's house, but there were rows on my skin, there weren't secret meetings at night, but there were three kids staying up wondering what the fuck happened to them. There were three kids who were out of place, three kids who were angry and confused and quickly losing their faith in the magic of Hogwarts.

I snuck up to the astronomy tower, still upset, but now free of an audience to see, and I stand as high up as i can get- on the concrete ledge that edges the floor- staring up at the darkening sky and wishing that I hadn't come to Hogwarts at all. Wishing that I was a muggle, maybe. Maybe it would've been better if I didn't exist to fuck things up in the first place. I mean, just look at me.

"Really?" a familiar voice asks, from behind me.

"Fuck off."

"I thought you were above this sort of thing."

"No."

"Get down. I didn't mean it. You're not a squib."

"I told you to fuck off."

"Still upset? How long have you been standing here? Listen. Come here."

I don't answer him, and line my toes up to the edge, hands shoved in my pockets.

"I said, _come here_."

I look down.

"Hey!"

"Give me a break, Hart. I'm fucking tired of you. All of you. You and Joel and Ellie."

But I'm dragged back and away, and I sag into the ground.

"You're insane."

"So you've told me," I say wryly, looking up at him.

Lysander hart stares down at me, at a loss for words. I can see the words in his eyes, I can see him clicking through options, calculating, finding the routes with the most guaranteed chances of success. But he never says anything. I pick myself off the ground and march away from the indignity of being caught.

...

Ellie sits at the Ravenclaw table at breakfast with a piece of paper and a glare. I watch her with my chin in my hands, as her eyes skip and circle back over words, and as frustration materialises on her face the longer she stares. I want to talk to her, but the longer I look at her the more I realise that I barely know her at all anymore.

She's got friends that like sports and knowing everything, and they wear clear lip gloss and draw maps and have ink stains on their hands. They sweep around like storms, skipping classes and reading, all the time reading, words spilling from their mouths, haughty-eyed book-drunk girls that engulfed and surrounded Ellie until I couldn't see her anymore, the only different one, the one that hated words- that one dark, angry one who's mouth was gagged and who's eyes were desperately scanning the page.

Joel sits at the Hufflepuff table at breakfast with his hair a tussle, his knuckles flushed, and his messy mouth rubbed raw from his own teeth. He bites and scratches himself, and would tear himself apart if he could. They had stuffed him into a box, putting him in Hufflepuff. They'd twisted his limbs and sat on the lid and suffocated him with their niceness, and he hated it. I watch with hunched shoulders as his eyes roam angrily around the room, and I look away and shrink back when his eyes find me. I want to hide from him, but the longer he looks at me, the more I realise that I loved him once.

He's got friends that like soft things and warmth, and they wear comfy sweaters and drink hot chocolate and trail their fingers over the worn wood tables absently. They make quiet jokes and soft talk, they had the truest, clearest hearts beating in their chests, always loyal, always insufferably loyal, always kind and sensible. They gently plied at Joel, smiling, trusting, believing the smile on his face as the rage built up behind his eyes. He's mastered the casual slouch, the gentle movements, but he is anything but gentle, he is anything but kind.

Lysander sits at nearly the opposite end of the Slytherin table with his ever shifting face and lies making themselves up in his mind as he eats. I watch him out of the corners of my eyes- you can't trust Lysander; you can't trust a liar. He shifts and clicks and becomes a different shape with every word that comes out of his mouth, measuring things up for size before trying them out. He looks like a robot with the face of a teenager, something difficult to understand but easy to believe. They'd been right, to put him here, where cunning and ambition ran rampant among us, where it wasn't a question of whether or not to hurt, but rather _how_ to hurt.

He's got friends that like to play the same game as he does, and their lies mix with his until you're left with your head spinning, looking back and forth between them in despair until you give up on listening at all. They ran you in circles, they whispered things that didn't mean anything but changed you anyways. They weren't the loud ones of our house, they were the quiet ones, the ones that ruled form the background, the ones that called you _darling_ and smiled if you flushed in embarrassment. They lie back and forth, clicking and shifting against each other, a never ending game of mousetrap, a whole group of people trying to corner each other, a confusing mess of alliances and friendships and respect and enmity that was cold and intricate and held Lysander in its web in such a way that you wondered if it was the web trapping him, or if he was the spider.

I sit by myself because I am too wary of these things called 'friends' and would rather be alone than be hurt, because for me it is, indeed, not a question of whether or not to hurt, but how to hurt. I am not interesting. I am only trapped, mostly troubled- mostly an onlooker, and happy to stay that way. I was the one who wrote the stories and they were the ones who lived through them. When this was all over, I'd be left alone with dead characters around me, clutching my handwritten story, T _he Adventures of the Individualists_ , to my chest and wishing that I had been a part of it instead.


	2. wow look it's lysanderrrrr

When I was eleven years old I was alone a lot. It wasn't the obvious kind of alone. It was subtle, it was cunning. It slithered around my wrists and pooled in the hollows of my collarbone, and sunk its teeth into my lips and tried to make me speak. I wasn't upset about being a Slytherin- I never was. I was still new to everything, new and alone- Slytherins didn't make friends, because there were too many things that were expected of them. No, Slytherins were divided, some of us wanting to be all that we were told to be, others wanting to become different, to leave the restraints made for us. We were, after all, Slytherins. Didn't we make our own rules?

I was used to being alone, in a way- the twins would run around without me, they wouldn't play with me because they didn't like how I played, and they didn't want me to mess up their games anyways. I was used to watching them fool around outside in the lavender fields in the backyard, the two of them not needing anything else except each other. And then when that kid came along, they let her play with them, and I realised that they were excluding me on purpose.

At first the kid didn't understand it. She would flutter between me and the twins, asking questions. She never stopped asking questions- not until she got to Hogwarts, anyways. Who was i? Did I want to play? How many freckles did I have? What was I reading? Did I know that I had toothpaste on my mouth? Did I know that my hair looked nice today?

No, no, no I didn't know, and I didn't want to play. I didn't want to play, I lied. Go away.

Would you consider the twins best friends, or does it not count because they're twins? Was she their friend? Was she good enough? Funny, did I even really know the answer? They were my siblings, weren't they? Shouldn't I know? How old was I? What was it like to be a year older? Why didn't I like her or the twins? Was it because I was older?

I didn't know the answers, so I just ignored, her, and eventually, she'd go away. The older she got the more she stayed away. But she used to come over to where I was reading and lean over on one hand and touch my face with the other, like she was fascinated with the way I looked, like I was a thing to be studied and understood. But I don't think she ever understood.

There are two extreme kinds of Slytherins. The nice ones and the mean ones. Basically. Then there were the ones in between, all different shades of green. Who were we? The Slytherins were in the midst of a sort of identity crisis when I arrived. It was Traditionalists versus Liberals, and I was not going to get caught up in the fight.

So I got put into the group of all the other kids who didn't want to fight, but somehow we still managed to form groups within ourselves- the ones who were skillful at implying things, the ones who were quiet and influential and made the Traditionalists vs Liberals conflict into their plaything, in a way reinforcing the Slytherin stereotype without anyone knowing. I was friends with the talkers who stayed in the lines while they were drawing new ones.

What was happening? What were they saying? They said words that meant more than one thing and they said more than one thing that directed you to one idea that they made feel like yours. Eventually I took up the game and got good at it. I've had four years of practice. Now it's my turn to confuse the first years and play grownup games with other kids my age.

When the twins and that kid showed up, they irritated me. They didn't belong here. Hogwarts was my home, a home free of the things that they had made me suffer through, and now they were back again. I could never escape them. I was glad they weren't in Slytherin. Except that kid- the one who always asked questions. She didn't talk as much, but the questions still bubbled up in her eyes and she looked around with the open wonder of someone who was about to be hurt. I wanted to hurt her. To smack that look right off of her face. But in a way, I wanted to do it so that no one else could. She and I had something that other people didn't. I could still remember the questions, the freckle counting and reading books over each other's shoulders. There wasn't a lot to us, but there was still something different that I viciously claimed as _mine_.

I'm not good at making friends- I had never learned how. So I went back to my war council waging war on itself and played their games hard enough to make myself the game master, forgetting about the time spent with the girl who asked questions. But in the back of my head, I still called her mine.

And the twins.

Ellie goes to Ravenclaw, she goes and I watch her, I watch the color drain from her face, and the panic that sets in- she was the illiterate forced to scramble to keep up, and I felt satisfied that she would suffer as much as she had made me suffer.

Joel goes to Hufflepuff, the madman confined to the padded cell, his disappointment liquefying slowly and turning into irritation that built up and swelled into rage, and I feel satisfied that he would be as angry and alone as he made me.

I watch them, the three of them, I watch and never _really_ interfere, just throwing out the appropriate amount of insults, just enough to keep them in line, enough to tell them that I was in charge. They didn't know, they couldn't tell when they had been subjugated. It was satisfying, to know that for once in my life _I_ was the one pulling the strings.

That girl never spoke to me first. She never looked at me. Not until I leaned across the table, smirking, and said something that pulled up the strings attached to her head. She looked at me, at my eyes, at the color she'd spent hours trying to describe, and then across the freckles that she'd counted, then recounted, coming up with a different number every single time. She looks at me and doesn't say a word, eyes dark and blank and unquestioning, sedated with defeat. It had been too late. She wasn't the kid that I remembered. But I didn't care.

Ellie avoided me. Afraid of the insults I tossed at her. I skirted dangerously around the edges of the word that sent her into a panic- _dyslexia._ She shied away, afraid of it, practically handing me power over her. When she talked to me her words were skittish and filled with fear, yellowed out and stringy. She was easy to move around. Easy to rule. She was brittle and too afraid to break. She looked at me and only saw someone that threatened her, someone that brought her worst fear on her. She saw me and I reminded her of the time spent telling me to go away, telling me that I couldn't be a part of the world she and Joel and the kid had been a part of.

Joel and I fought a lot. We always fought. He was the unstable one, the loose cannon that crashed through other people but was stuck ricocheting around his own mind. Poor, pathetic Joel always tormented himself with thoughts of freedom, of a life that was as fast-paced as he was, but oh, the irony of it, he was a _Hufflepuff_ , someone who was supposed to be loyal and true. He was tied to the stake of trustworthiness and screaming to be released. He was all tied up and I could hit him without being worried about really being hit back.

I had never thought about death all that much- not in a way that applied to me. Not in a way that made me stop and care. I was not afraid of death, I was afraid of having no influence on the world. So death wasn't anything that I'd ever thought about. if I died, I died. So what. It was a DQ, it wasn't defeat. Death wasn't something i was afraid of.

And then one day I looked at Ellie and that was all I saw, drawn dark into the circles under her eyes like scars, and it startled me. I saw the intent in her, to pull out of the game, to stop playing, to abandon the promise of the finish line, wherever it was. My own sister, ready to die. I read it so easily off of her face. I don't know how it made me feel. But I was still the one in charge, and I pulled her strings out and away from death only to see her hanging there, limp, like she was already dead, swinging in a noose that I had made.

And then one day I looked at Joel and death was all I saw, in the angry frustration with which he jogged around the quidditch pitch- Joel had always been a runner, always eager to move, to escape. He didn't like flying, flying meant that he had to depend on magic to carry him. No, he liked to run, liked to feel the strides pull long at his legs. I looked at Joel running around, and in the posture of his shoulders and the hang of his head I saw the same defeat that I saw in Ellie- the twins always matched each other, even when they weren't trying. But I was still the one in charge and I put up some barrier to stop him from running into madness. But he kept throwing himself into the wall, until he knocked himself senseless and lay in a heap on the ground. My own brother, ready to die.

And then one day I saw a girl standing on the ledge of the astronomy tower with her hands shoved into her pockets and a head full of things that _I_ had said, whispering _jump_ \- the questioner now left with an answer that was good enough for her. I saw the idea resting passively in the back of her mind- I had put that idea there, on accident or maybe to prove my power to myself, I don't know. I could see it unfolding and taking a hold of her, taking a hold of the very same girl who sat for hours away from my tormentors and read with me until it was too dark to see. My only friend, ready to die. And I had to undo the things that I did, but I didn't know how. I always planned things out. I never made an error. I was unused to failure, and now I didn't know how to undo what had been done.

But I never meant to kill anyone, so I pulled her down and she walked away.


	3. iiiit's Ellie!

When I was eleven years old, I was scared a lot. I didn't understand what was happening to me, or why it was happening, only that there had been some mistake. I am not an actor. I am not a good liar. That particular skill was inherited by Lysander, my terrifying brother, drunk on power, but also not sure what he wanted to do with his power.

I was used to feeling scared. Scared mostly of failure, of being discovered as a fraud. I can't read. okay? I can't read. Not very well. The letters flip themselves around and get confused when I look at them. I don't know why i have to read. This is a school for magic. To deal with it, I record all my lessons, and I have a dictation spell on a lot of the time, but it gets so tiring, the never ending onslaught of words pouring into your head.

And why was a Ravenclaw? I'm as dumb as a rock. _S_ _he_ should've gotten into Ravenclaw, not Slytherin. _She_ who was inquisitive and knew things and spouted an endless stream of information and always wanted to know more. _She_ who my brothers both adored, _She_ who adored me and told me as much. I hated and loved her. I hated her for what she knew, but I loved her for explaining what she knew to me. She'd tell me about the book Lysander was reading, she'd send me letters charmed with her voice, she'd tell me things that were for my ears only, and I felt like I was finally part of the world again.

I wasn't supposed to be in Ravenclaw. There must have been a mistake. If it wasn't _she_ who got into Ravenclaw, then it was Joel, my untethered brother, wild with the desire to break free from his life, to break free from me, crazed with the need to be unique. Joel hated being a twin.

Joel was smart. He learned things quickly, and forgot them just as fast, only to learn them again on the spur of the moment. He was a jack of all trades, he was all over the place, intelligent, with the same cruel streak that Lysander had. But Joel couldn't lie. It was nearly impossible for him, and knowing that made his cruelty worse. Every word out of his mouth was honest and true, even though he didn't say things because he wanted to be honest and true. He spoke to injure, spoke to hurt, and I was the one he knew the best, so he hurt me the most. I learned that quickly, quickly after her started getting angry, and I abandoned him in favor of learning how to read.

 _She_ was left with him, but it was okay. It was okay because he liked her for her quick mind and brutal honesty that matched his. Joel gets jealous easily, and I knew, even at twelve, that he noticed how _she_ looked at me and how I looked at her. So I left. I left them to their nightly conversations and tried not to think about what I was missing.

My friends were all cruel, cold, and superior to me in every way. They were Quidditch players, they were cutthroat honor students and information dealers, they were looking for that rush of knowing- they were bored because they knew everything- they were hedonists and they got high as fuck in the bathrooms and snuck out at night to discover something new. I went with them, only so that I wouldn't think about what I was missing, so that I wouldn't think about a meeting of two people that used to be a meeting for three.

Because I went with them I became one of them, and they saw my refusal to read or to take notes in class as commendable, and not as a disguise for my disability- or maybe they knew, and they were just being kind. Either way, there was no problem with them figuring me out, but sometimes Lysander- oh I hate him- would come by and whisper a few words, and those words would curl sly around my ear and scare me. I was scared of being cast out by my friends, and I was scared of being killed by my friends. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to keep up with everyone else, so I worked hard and then even harder and agonized over tests and felt like I was drowning.

I distanced myself from everyone who I was afraid of, but I put myself even farther away from those who knew I couldn't read, which meant I stayed away from my only friend and both my brothers. I didn't mind not talking to my brothers, but I minded not talking to her.

And sometimes I would be sitting in the great hall and _she_ would be staring at me, and I could feel the questions directed my way. She never fell out of the habit of asking questions, she'd just stopped asking them out loud. But I can still tell what she wants to ask. Why had I gone? Why had I left her? What did she do to make me leave? I didn't answer any of her questions. I think maybe she's asking the wrong ones. It's not about me and her. I didn't leave because of me and her. I left because of Joel. My very own brother.

Sometimes I would be walking in the hallway and Joel would glance at me. I would try to understand what was happening to him, to the one who I thought I knew so well. I didn't know anything. But not anymore. I didn't know my own brother anymore. Not Lysander or Joel, but Joel especially. I had spent too long convinced that I knew him, that I knew him better than myself.

I kept up appearances and ran around after them, a runner rolling out her ankles every time she took a step. It was a long, painful process, and the pain of it defied my friends the hedons. They could see that I was struggling with something, but they didn't know what- they were smart, but they didn't know me that well- but nevertheless they tried to make me feel better, they dared me to do things that inflamed me with adrenaline for a few hours and then left me exhausted.

 _She_ tried to talk to me sometimes, and I would pretend I didn't hear her, pretend I didn't know she existed, and she would leave. Sometimes Joel would talk to me, and I kept it formal and short- something so odd, something that I had to rip myself apart to do. I pretended that we weren't twins, to make things easier, but it killed me to do it. It was like I was trying to rip something out of me. I don't know if it bothered him all that much, though.

And I avoided Lysander like the plague. He knew which buttons to push, and I hated him for it. I hated being controlled so easily, and I didn't want to get angry when he talked to me. It was considered garish, to the Ravenclaws. They were self possessed, and anything but their own righteous indignation was considered an indecent lack of control.

On the day that I gathered up the nerve to talk to Joel, I was nervous. It was ridiculous. I couldn't even talk to my own twin without feeling like I was heading for sure doom. To be this scared of rejection was humiliating but unavoidable. I couldn't lose anymore.

"Joel," I say.

"Ellie."

We observe each other. He looks so different, controlled anger his best and only look, worn under the comfy sweaters and mismatched socks and blotchy freckles. I am afraid of what my brother has become, mostly because I have always known what he was capable of becoming. I have always known, I've been seening the snatches of his rage ever since we were little. I was scared little Ellie observing from the shadows. Look at her scurry past, and if you reach out you can catch her, no problem. She's not all that fast. Oh no. Scared little Ellie is too paralyzed by her fear to escape.

"What happened?" I ask my brother "What happened to us?"

He takes his time in answering, and he studies me as he considers his answer. I am suddenly hyper aware of myself, of the acne on my face, of the red puffiness of my eyes, of the slightly stale smell of my robes gone one day extra without a wash, under the smell of my deodorant, of the hair falling staticky and wispy against my face.

"You left," he says, placing all the blame on me in one breath. "You were too good for us and you went to hang out with your friends and left us."

Joel, i have always known, gets jealous easily, and I had expected this. I had expected that he'd think that I left because I found someone better than him, not because I had found more fault in him than I could bear looking at.

I do not want to apologise. I was not here to apologise. i was here to sort through the wreckage and try to find something -in my brother, in myself, in our relationship- that was worth saving. But I do not want to apologise, no, I will not be the one to succumb, no, this time Joel would be the first one to admit defeat.

"I'm sorry," I end up saying, and his eyes narrow- my eyes narrow as well, but for a different reason. Two people perfectly the same but so, so different. I can't tell where we'd fallen out of synchronisation, but at some point I had fallen behind, like I always do, and I was still struggling to catch up. I was always struggling to catch up.

And that was that. We didn't ever really talk again. I had failed to get what I wanted. There was nothing else to do.

On the day that I decided to talk to _her_ , I wasn't nervous. I was comfortable with her, and comfortable with how well I knew her. She was constant and steady. I could predict what she was going to do, and so I can prepare myself for the confrontation. I _wanted_ to apologise to her, for being stupid, for never explaining myself, for leaving her in the dark.

"Hey," I call, to catch her attention, a casual greeting spoken in a tone that was anything but casual. She stops in her tracks, and turns slowly, hands tight around the strap of her book bag. She's nervous, but it's not a surprised nervousness. I wonder how many times she had walked past me, worried that I would try and speak to her like I am now. It's something she would worry about.

"Ellie," she says, and there's something in her voice that catches me off guard. It was a beautiful sound, flushed with relief and warmth, but had her voice always been that tired? I want her to say my name again, just so I can decipher it. I want her to say it again because it was the first time I had heard someone say my name like that. Like a sigh. Like I was something _she_ relied on, not the other way around.

"How are you?" I ask. She sits down and doesn't answer. When she finally looks at me, she has a flat sort of smile on her face. I return the smile, and she relaxes.

"We haven't talked in a while, have we," she asks, hunching her shoulders forwards and leaning in my direction, over the table. I can smell her orange gum on her lips and the faint smell of the industrial grade shampoo in her hair that the school supplied. I want to lean forwards as well, to get closer, to smile at her- not this formal smiling bullshit, but a real, wide smile that spoke back to days spent outside behind my house in the summer.

But instead of leaning forwards, I settle into my chair and rest my feet on the rungs. "No," I agree. "We haven't."

"You look tired," she tells me, and the way that she says it makes it sound almost like she had carefully taken my face in her hands and inspected it. I nearly flush with the innocent, unintentional intimacy of it.

I shrug, shaking away the feeling, slightly irritated that she had managed to start moving the conversation towards me already. "I'm fine. I just wanted to... to say hi." It sounds lame, and I falter, cringing. She waits patiently for me to say something. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Well, transfiguration is one hell of a class, isn't it? It's been driving me mad." The smile is back, and I want her to stop doing it. How can she talk about school when everything is obviously wrong? Does she not see it? Does she not know? How can she act like everything is fine when she's obviously not fine and _I'm_ obviously not fine?

"I like transfiguration," I say lamely, leaning back in my chair like I'm trying to get away from the conversation.

"Yeah, well," she rests her chin in her hands, something she does a lot. "You're good at that kind of thing. You and your cool friends." She flashes a smile to show she's joking, but I know she's not. I can hear the undertones of exhaustion.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to rub it in."

"You're fine."

An awkward silence.

"Um-"

"Listen-"

"Oh. you go first."

I flush and shake my head. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Just something to fill the silence."

We never end up talking about anything important. She's the master at small talk, and I vaguely remember her incessant chatter from before we started at school. She never said anything important but she always left you feeling something. I leave feeling a bit lighter than I had before, a little happier. I wonder if she had planned to make me feel better about myself. She's good at that sort of thing, and I'm a sucker for it. For her.

I'm not happy that I never got to apologise, but I walk away towards the Ravenclaw tower feeling better about myself for basically no reason at all. I didn't know anything other than the fact I wanted to talk to her again, just so I could feel like this more often. You can't feel afraid of her, she's too unassuming- or she's just very good at seeming unassuming- and she doesn't want to harm, she wants to help.

If it weren't for Joel, I'd still be friends with her, I'm sure. I blame a lot of this on Joel, but Joel blames a lot of it on me. This falling apart of our band of three. All my fault for being the first one to break ranks and leave, even though he was the one that made me want to break ranks in the first place. You couldn't rally behind Joel without giving him your heart and soul, and as a kid I was ready to give him all of those things, but the older I got the more distant the idea of having a 'twin' became, until I was unwilling to give Joel the time of day if he asked.

He wasn't exactly controlling or possessive- he wasn't that obsessive- but you could see the jealousy and the anger that was always there, and you couldn't help but be all too afraid to ignite his wrath. I knew what it was like. I've spent my whole life with him.

I didn't want to break ranks. I don't know why they ever thought I _wanted_ to leave. I liked being a band of three, and I liked having a best friend and a twin brother who I also considered a best friend. I never wanted to abandon them, but I always seem to do the opposite of what I want to do, and so I left them. What other choice did I have?

 _ **Hey, thanks for reading. And SB- Potterhead Budgie Lover, you're the marvelous one. :)**_


	4. the angry one's name is joel

When I was eleven, I was confused. Why Hufflepuff? Why not Gryffindor? I've always wanted to be in Gryffindor. And what did I do to get into Hufflepuff, anyways? I'm not particularly loyal or trustworthy, even though Ellie used to tell me all the time that it was impossible for me to tell a lie. That's not even true. Besides. Just because I tell the truth doesn't mean I'm trustworthy, does it? Am I not brave enough for Gryffindor?

I didn't _want_ to be a Hufflepuff. I wanted to be in the daring house, not the loyal one. Loyal? What does that even mean? I'm not loyal. No, not loyal at all. Not even to my twin sister, not even to the other one, to the girl that I told I loved. See? I can lie.

Ellie was annoying. She still is, but she's backed off, and I'm glad. I mean, she would interrupt me to talk to someone I was talking to. We aren't the same person. She can't just talk over me like that! And she would tag along wherever I went. She would follow me down to the Hufflepuff common room. She would talk to the girl I told I loved and I could see that she was ready to take her away from me too.

The girl had met Ellie because of _me_. I was at the park when I was eight, and Ellie was flying around on those toy broomsticks that they let kids play on. Since I like running better, I was sort of just crashing around until I found _her_. She was pretty in the sense that she was quick on the uptake and never left you hanging for words. She was sharp witted and curious about everything, and seemed very self possessed for an eight year old.

Turns out that she lived down the street, so we started hanging out- just her and I- but Ellie, as usual, began to tag along, until the three of us were all friends. But I didn't forget that the girl was my friend first.

And now she's quiet and shut off, now Ellie is apologetic and shy, now Lysander is a huge prick and a control freak. _What happened to us_? Ellie had asked. That was a good question, but with an blatant answer. It was Ellie's fault, obviously, for getting in the way between the girl and I. She was the one who made the girl start to doubt me, and she was the one who left first and started to pull the girl away from me.

I told her I loved her because I didn't know what it meant. Love? Was love really a thing? What did it mean? But when I said it to her something flashed across her face and I understood what it meant. I said it a few more times, just to get the feel for it, and she flushed and smiled, flustered. She didn't know what to say. She could've said it back, at least.

But the girl I told I loved was tired, so I cut her some slack. It was okay that she was in Slytherin, I guess. I expected her to be in Slytherin, because of her name, and I didn't like it, but I could tolerate it. She was alright, for a Slytherin, but I did start to pay closer attention to her, in case she tried anything.

Lysander, on the other hand, is not a good Slytherin. He wears me out. I wish he would just stop talking to me. I mean, he never really talked to me at home, I don't know he started now. He's always played the antagonist, and I suppose that I had hopes that he would back down when there were other people around. Apparently not. Apparently Lysander has no fucking dignity in him.

I stopped seeing my siblings as much, and after a while, the girl I told I loved faded out and away too. I don't know where she went, but sometimes I see her in the halls, and every time I want to go and talk to her. I don't, though, because _she_ doesn't want to talk to _me_. I can tell. Oh, I can tell. Maybe I was too forward. Maybe I told her I loved her too soon. I should've let things play out more.

But seeing less of her meant I was going insane. I can't be on my own without her, I'm a little bit lost without her. I couldn't deal with the stupid Hufflepuffs- talking of equality and loyalty and rules- while all I wanted to do was to get out of Hogwarts. Don't get me wrong, the Hufflepuffs were the good friends, the sensible ones with their heads screwed on straight, the ones with a strong sense of justice, the slow but steady earth shakers, but I simply had no time for them. I wasn't interested in changing the world, I just wanted _out_ of it _. I_ was claustrophobic, tired of this stupid house, tired of this stupid school, tired of the girl I told I loved avoiding me in the halls, tired of fighting with Lysander and seeing Ellie's disappointed looks when I pass her.

I just wanted to be able to do my own thing without having people tell me that it was right or wrong. I was all too aware that there were too many rules, too many people trying to see if you followed them. You weren't allowed to be anything other than the ultimate Hufflepuff if you were in that house. The same went for the other houses, but I decidedly did not fit in Hufflepuff and I wanted to be let out. That stupid Sorting Hat must have gotten things wrong.

I went out running a lot, mostly because I couldn't take all of the constant talk from the Hufflepuffs- good God they talk a lot- and they stay up so late that I have to come up with some excuse to leave the common room so that I can go to sleep.

Running was a way to feel like I was actually running away, even though I knew I wasn't. There's something freeing about the way that you stretch out your legs and go flying down the field, about the way that you control your own movement, and every movement obeys you. Running gives me the control over myself that being in Hufflepuff has taken away from me.

All these stereotypes are hurting us. And I want to escape it. That wasn't too much to ask for. After all, I am in control of myself and I should be able to lead my own life the way I want to. But I can't seem to get free of all of this, and the longer I stay locked into it, the more I want out.

Why aren't the others reacting like I am? Even if Ellie is too scared, and Lysander is happy where he is, why at least isn't the girl I told I loved up in arms over this? She doesn't want to belong in Slytherin. She should be the prime example of why we _should_ leave the school.

I used to want to run away with her, just because at the time it seemed easier to me to run away with a second person to ground you. She always grounded me. But by now, I'm just frustrated. If I ran away, where would I go? What would I do? Besides, I haven't even learned all of the things I need to know from this god awful school. I'd probably die out on my own. So I study a lot. While Ellie is still learning how to read, I am learning what I need to know before I run away, because that is what I've resolved to do.

I haven't decided yet whether I'll as the girl to come with me. Does she still like me? Would she even talk to me if I asked her? Probably not. I won't ask her to come with me. It wouldn't do any good, anyways. It's better this way, to be untethered from people. That is, after all, what I'm trying to escape. An excess of people.

I am arguing with Lysander. He always tells me that I deserve to be in Hufflepuff, and that maybe they want me to cool down and use some of my enthusiasm to fight for something, or to devote it to helping other people. I don't know why I would do that, because no one needs help. It's like a completely different matter. Lysander just doesn't understand, and that's why he's so annoying, because he's convinced that he's right, when he's obviously wrong.

I learn a few spells, but I find myself more drawn to spill theory, to the creation of spells and how and why they work. spells are, in a way, a way to communicate with your wand, but your wand is just a way to channel the magic that you're born with, so it goes to reason that spells are just a way to control the movement of magic. Nonverbal spells was just eliminating the step of speaking aloud, and using the mind to direct magic through the wand instead. It was impossible, but suppose that there were people who didn't need the step of using a wand at all, and just used their minds to control their magic? What then? Would there be more possibilities when magic isn't limited to a wand?

I spend a long time studying, which is good for multiple reasons, reason one being that Lysander never goes to the library, since the Slytherins have sort of their own library down there, and reason two being that I never see Ellie there, since Ellie can't read. The girl I told I loved, how ever, is in the library constantly, and she just sort of ignores me, but she's there. The only one who hasn't run away basically screaming from me yet.

The girl has always been a sort of sad thing. She always wanted to know more, but she always carries this quiet air of sadness around her that no one ever understands, and that made us all the questioners. Where did it come from? She'd been like that since she was eight. What had happened? I don't know.

But in the library on a certain day she comes storming in with Lysander in tow, whispering something to her as quietly as he can so as to not invoke the wrath of the librarian, but also pleading with her as loud as he dared.

" _Hey! Come on. I'm sorry._ " Lysander, apologising? Never. That never happened. I twist away the stab of jealousy that runs straight through me. My own brother can't apologise to me, but he can when he's talking to her?

" _Come on, kid,"_ he insists, " _it's all been in good fun, hasn't it? Banter between two friends?"_

" _What the hell, Lysander, stop talking like that,"_ she snaps as they round the corner and vanish from sight. I can still hear them, though, through the shelves. " _I don't care about your bullshit justifications. Leave me alone."_

" _I am just trying to make you feel better-"_

" _Well, shove it!"_

They move towards the table where I sit, and they both stop short when they see me sitting there. I can see Lysander assessing the situation for the best next move, but she doesn't even have to think and turns on her heel, walking in the other direction.

" _Hey! Where you going_?" he hisses, but then turns back to me instead of going after her.

"Something wrong?" I ask, sneering at him. "Girl issues?"

"This is your fault too," he accuses, and a flare of anger surges through me.

"My fault? Really?" I snap. "I'm not the one who gives her hell!"

"What are you talking about? _You're_ the one who kept leading her around in circles."

I stand up, upset. "She and I are friends."

Lysander laughs, and irritation runs hot into my head and chest, crowding out my lungs and making it harder to breathe. I clench my fists as he sneers at me.

"You're still sticking with that?" he asks me, incredulous. "Do you even know what the word 'friend' means?"

"Yes, I do," I say indignantly.

"And I thought you Hufflepuffs were experts in this sort of thing. Friendship. Sitting around singing and peace and some shit."

I bristle. "I am not a Hufflepuff!" I spit out, but he just shrugs and walks away, leaving me seething there between the shelves.

I am not a Hufflepuff.

an:weak chapter, i know, but i'm not good at writing angry characters. review?


	5. lysander and the narrator

**as this is mostly a place for me to try out characterisation etc, after intro'ing the characters (chapters 1-4), i've started trying to flesh out interactions between characters, so you might notice like the contrasts like curiosity/indifference, calm/frenzy, past and present Lysander, or whatever blah**

 **drop a review-** **i'm desperate for instant gratification and validation hah**

 **also, thanks for the reviews,** _ **SB- Potterhead**_ **, you review more than my sibling does. a _HEM_ _._**

 **and now, the story**

* * *

I am now sixteen, and it sucks as much as it had when I was fifteen yesterday. There's a moment where I almost think that someone remembered, but I shake myself back to earth and get my ass back away from Charms. Fuck it, if it's my birthday I'll skip whatever classes I want.

I don't know where i'm going until I sit down on the ledge up on the Astronomy tower and look around. Things look nice up here. Neat and manageable, the straight green lawns and the row of trees that border it making perfect, straight lines. It's just starting to get warm, and a breeze ruffles past, the only noise up here besides the muffled, cheerful yelling of people practicing on the Quidditch pitch.

I mean, if you think about it, it doesn't matter. Your birthday, I mean. Sure, time is measured and prized so much because we make our own boundaries, our own units of the world around us, in order to manage it, but I'm not that much different than I was yesterday. If we really wanted to celebrate people growing up we would celebrate when something big happens. Like your whole family dying or realising that you can't wear crocs out in public.

But if you really think about it, it's nice to have an excuse to take a break for a while. If I were better at studying alone, I'd skip class more and just take the tests at the end of the year. Because this is quite nice, just sitting here. It would be better if I didn't have to worry about going to classes.

I pull my wand out of my pocket and look at it glumly. I've never successfully used it all the five years that I've had it. It rests there, dark in my hand, and I hold it horizontal and snap it in half. It's not as violent of a gesture as I expected it to be- probably because I've never put any particular importance in it, and there is virtually no difference in my life now that it's broken. It sparks furiously, hissing and burning, and I pull my arm back and hurl it away so hard that I nearly fall off the ledge. It goes flying out over the grass and vanishes, still sparking. Good. I hope it starts a fire.

It doesn't, unfortunately, but I still sit up there waiting for a good hour. I sit waiting, watching the world move around beneath me. Everything looks simple out here, all spelled out in the spring afternoon, and my mind relaxes when its anxiety is removed, and my thoughts start to wander around. I haven't had time to sit passive like this for a while. Most of my time was spent in classes or worrying about not being in classes, but now I force myself to stop thinking about school and turn my mind to other, more pleasant thoughts.

Ellie. That conversation with Ellie was weird, the two of us skirting around the line between friendship and acquaintance, like we were circling around each other but too afraid to fight. Sad, really, because we used to be really good friends. Sad really, because we both wanted to be friends again. Our voices replay themselves in my mind, words spilling out over the sounds of the world around me. What had I said? What had she said? And what had it all meant? Both of us were cowards, left to our havens of unimportant small talk, stuck in a rut of the generic.

I had wanted to say something. Something like _I've been waiting for you_ , or even _I missed you_ , but I had sort of sat there and talked about school work and then fled the scene. It was so damn awkward. I barely looked at her- I already knew what she looked like, and I didn't want to see what she looked like looking at me. Chasing after Ellie was a dream, but sitting down and talking with her made me realise that I haven't really talked to anyone for a very long time. And I was afraid of messing it up. I didn't know why she chose that day in particular to call me over. I had spent hours thinking about what I would say if I ever decided to sit down with her, but it was something I didn't think would actually happen.

That night I wander down to the kitchens and climb through the hole behind the painting and ask, shyly, if they'll make a birthday cake for me. Not a big one. Something I could eat in one go. Of course they agree, and I sit there watching them on a stool that's too small for me, tiredness weighing me down into my seat and disgust at my sentimentality running hot through me.

Armed with a fork and a minty green cake with _Happy Birthday!_ iced onto it, tucked into a white paper box, I trudge towards the dungeons and step through the porthole into the Slytherin Common Room. No one's awake. It's three in the morning, technically not even my birthday anymore. But I sit down in front of the faltering fire, on the floor- because God knows those fancy ass armchairs are less comfortable than the ground- and start eating.

"The hell are _you_ doing?" someone asks loudly. I turn halfway and Lysander drops down on the ground beside me. He's shivering with cold, and for a moment I think he's just his old, unguarded self, and then think better of it.

"What are _you_ doing?" I ask back. He doesn't answer, but that's fair because I didn't answer his question either. We both let the matter slide. I don't care what he was doing. Half the school is up until the morning anyways. Well. I also don't want to admit that I was just moping around.

He glances at the cake. "Is it your birthday?"

"It was yesterday." I say guardedly, and take another bite, not looking at him, ears red. He stares at me curiously. It's a weird progression of events, of misunderstanding- my refusal to give him the benefit of the doubt and his refusal to see that I'm refusing him the benefit of the doubt.

"Can I have some?" he's already pulling out his wand, and I shrug.

"I guess."

He fishes a broken quill from his pocket and transfigures it into a plastic fork. I watch, envying the ease with which he does it. Transfiguration is his best subject, though, and I notice his eyes sliding towards me, waiting for a reaction. Show off. I don't know why he feels the need to rub it in, when he's spent so long telling me that I suck. I pointedly don't say anything and he takes a bite.

"Pretty good," he comments, blatantly ignoring the awkwardness.

"Yeah."

We finish the cake in dead silence, and when we're done I toss the empty box into the fire, which flickers brighter for a moment, and draw my knees up to my chest. It's cold and I'm wearing my sweater and not my robes. He must be colder, in his t shirt and sweatpants that leave his ankles exposed. I glance down at the flashes of skin at the cuffs of his pants and wonder at how tall he seemed to have gotten in the one year that we were apart. I mean, I had grown as well, but it's just another detail that drives the point home- that he's not what I remembered him to be before I had gotten to school. I wonder what happened to him to change him.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Lysander complains, as I rub my eyes tiredly.

"No. Why don't you go and do whatever you got up this early for?" A.k.a. "leave me alone already". I shared my birthday cake with him, what else does he want? Did he want anything else? Was I reading too far into this? I'm uncomfortable with how little control I have over the conversation- or what sorry excuse for a conversation we were having.

"I was actually going to go up to the Astronomy tower to look for you," he blurts out.

I stare at him blankly, and he flushes.

"I don't know. it was bothering me. You- uh- you being up there. and- and, well, I didn't see you in the common room before I went up to bed, so I thought I should go check." he looks at my expression. "You think I'm just feeling guilty. Well, I am, actually- but that's beside the point- the point is-"

"There is no point behind what's already been stated," I say flatly. "Shut up."

He shakes his head. "No, listen. Next year's my last year in school and I just- I didn't want to- um..." he trails off, looking for the right words, even though I sort of have an idea of what he's trying to say. "I didn't want to leave without doing something that meant something."

"Whatever." I'm not his charity case. I'm not obligated to humor him. He looks offended at my disinterest, and even presses his hand against his heart in indignation. I almost laugh at the gesture, but I battle the urge away in favor of bringing up a more serious matter.

"If you want to do something that means something, you'd go make up with Ellie," I say instead, and his face immediately falls. He wasn't expecting me to say that, and he sits back, a frown on his face.

After a moment, he sighs. "Yeah," he says, to my surprise, agreeing with me. "Maybe I should. But then again- there's you. Ellie's got friends. I can hold out a bit."

I'm not offended, but I pretend to be. "I don't need friends."

"That's what they all say."

"Are you telling me that I matter more to you than your own sister?" I ask skeptically.

"You know what it's like between me and twins," he insists, hands out and gesturing wildly, like he's struggling to get me to understand what I've already learned. I know how he feels. I'm not blind. "You know. you're the only one that knows!"

"Yes, I know Lysander," I say, crossing my arms in sort of counterweight to his frenzied motions. "Yet here I am telling you to make up with her."

"If you think it's that easy-" he starts to protest, but I cut him off.

"I'm not saying that. It's just a suggestion."

We fall silent, and it's a few minutes before he speaks again. He curls into himself and rests his chin on his knees. When I glance at him I can see how tired he is- maybe it's because I'm seeing him at eye level for the first time, or maybe it's because its almost four in the morning. Either way, it's strange. I've never associated school-version Lysander with human things like tiredness and confusion. It's sort of sad, it's sort of endearing, to see his emotions a muddle, splayed all over his face.

"And what's Joel's deal?" he mumbles, like he's asking himself. "I thought he was just afraid of being stuck here, I didn't know he was dumb."

I almost say _Do you honestly think you know Joel at all?_ , but I look at him and decide that it's probably not the best idea to go all out righteous indignation on him. I don't really feel up to defending Joel right now, either. "He's like you. Except he doesn't know how to foreplan," I explain. "Not that you do much of that yourself, but at least the intention is there."

"What do you mean?" he asks, affronted.

"You don't know what you want," I say, "but you're good at getting a lot of things, so you run around trying to figure out what to do with yourself, while you amass all of this junk that you have no use for."

Case one, bullying Ellie. Case two, harassing Joel. He wants some sort of control I suppose. Maybe it's control over the world around him, but I see it more as a need for control that comes form the lack of control he had around the twins before. I mean, they always forced him to leave them alone, to sit and read in some corner and not bother them. The only thing that's different now is that he used to be more raw to the feeling, and now he's all cold and closed off to it.

"Did you really just use the word 'amass'?" he teases. "Who are you, one of the professors?"

"Shut up."

He doesn't. "And besides. You're wrong. Joel knows exactly what he wants. And so do I."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"He wants to get away from us and study spell theory," he tells me.

"That's not what I was asking," I say, even though I am interested. "What I meant was, what do _you_ want?"

"Me?" he shrugs, without thinking of an answer, and gives me the classic Slytherin answer. "I'm not going to tell you. I don't trust you _that_ much."


	6. i ship it

It was a sort of secret meeting like we used to have, except this time around she was sharper and I was more tired.

What we used to do was that she'd come over and play with the twins, then say goodbye to them and leave, but then circle back to where I was, usually in the barn that was a half a mile away from the house. Or sometimes I'd go to read in the barn and walk to her house instead. But I almost never did that. And sometimes she'd stay over for the night- actually, she did that a lot- and when everyone else was asleep, she'd slip into my room. I'd be sitting awake, reading, but not really. I was just waiting for her but trying not to look like it, and then she'd sit down beside me.

Whenever we were alone, she'd ask her usual round of questions: How was I? What was I reading? Did I like my book? Why did I look so tired? How come I never went out and played with her and the twins? Did I want to go to the library with her? Maybe to her house? Was I tired?

And then she'd settle back and do whatever she wanted, and I would read and pretend not to notice her, even though I loved it when she read with me and asked me questions about the book. Who was this character? What was happening? Were they in love? Why did they hate each other, then?

I never asked her any questions, and I feel as if should have, because now, talking to her when she's all icy and rough, I realise that I don't know much about her at all. Only that she liked freckles and words and she sort of used to like me, too. Even though no one else did.

What _had_ happened to her? I didn't see her for a year, and she'd shown up at the school completely different. Or maybe the school had made her different. I don't know. Maybe it was my fault. Yeah. Maybe it really was.

I wanted to ask her, where were he parents? How was she doing with school? I'm good at transfiguration, did she know? Did she notice? She must have. Was I good enough for her? Why wouldn't she talk to me? Did I really hurt her that much? I didn't mean it. She knew that, didn't she?

What were the questions I had asked her today? _Is it your birthday_? I had asked. _Can I have some? Aren't you going to sleep? What do you mean?_ None of those questions that actually meant anything. But I had become the one who asked questions, and she had become the one who ignored them.

She looks so tired. I want to force her to go up to the dormitory and sleep. I want to go to sleep too, but as much as i'm determined not to let her outdo me, I also just want to stay with her. There's something about her non-assuming, passive aggressive self that makes me feel better, even though I've screwed things up to the point of no return.

She's sitting beside me, and I frown into the fire and wonder, when she mentions her, _What of ellie? What of her?_ I hadn't even given her much thought. She was just someone I was compelled to exercise control over, someone who deserved to be punished. Someone who I had succeeded in making upset, and now sat in the back burners of my mind, dormant. I had done all I had set out to do to her, and now I barely thought about her at all. My own sister.

And while we're on the topic of Ellie; Joel. Joel and I still fight a lot, but I don't antagonise him anymore. Oh, well, sometimes I can't help myself. But still. I don't understand him. At first I thought he was just being possessive, and now I'm not sure if he's possessive or legitimately disillusioned. He's maniacal. There's something genuinely _wrong_ with him. But he wasn't always like that, was he? I can't remember. I didn't talk to him that much, aside from the arguing, even before we got to school.

"You don't have siblings, do you?" I ask suddenly, and feel stupid for asking.

"Yeah, I do," she says, vaguely making eye contact but not really. Her eyes flicker away from my face and she looks back at the fire. "Why?"

"I don't remember you ever mentioning it."

"I have an older brother," she admits. "But he's thirty two."

"Whoa. He's old enough to be a parent. _Your_ parent, even. That's weird."

"He is."

"What?"

"My legal guardian."

"Really? Why?"

"Lysander, my parents died when I was six."

" _Oh._ "

"I've told you that before," she mumbles, curling in on herself and pointedly not looking at me.

"Sorry."

"Wow. What a fuckass."

"I said I'm _sorry!_ "

She scowls. So do i. "Stop being insulted so easily," I say.

"What the hell?" she cries, indignant, and I know i've said the wrong thing. "I have every right to be insulted."

"Yeah, well, what happened to you being able to put up with me?" I cringe at my own words. Goddamn why do I have to automatically try to cover my ass like that?

"I have never been able to put up with you!" she hisses, and I flinch.

"Wow. That hurt," I say awkwardly, looking away. Although, I suppose I deserved it. "And here I thought we were getting all friendly and shit. My bad. Didn't know. I don't pick up on this fucking touchy feely stuff anyway. You know what? I'm tired too tired for this. I'm out of here. This was a mistake. Talking to you was a mistake."

She doesn't protest, but bangs her head against the chair she's leaning against as I stand. I wait for her to say something. She doesn't. I leave.

It _was_ a mistake, talking to her, because somehow I expected her to be the same as she was when she was eight and she is obviously not eight anymore. She is a sad, tortured thing, and I'm a tired and confused thing that's fucked to the absolute max. Yeah, this was all a mistake. I need to sleep. I need to sleep for a week and never get up ever again. I want to die. Yeah, that's the word. I want to die.

How did I manage to spectacularly fuck it up? Me, the best liar there is, me, the one who could manage myself around the other Slytherins- all except her. No, I don't know what to do with her. She has a distinct hand over me- her cards rank higher than mine. She's _seen_ me out of school. I let her count my freckles, for fuck's sake. What do I say to her? And what does it mean when _she_ says things? I can't read her. I don't think she expected me to. I think maybe she just wanted me to go away, and the realisation crashes into me. I drop onto my bed and pass out, not wanting to think about it anymore.

The next morning I walk into the Great Hall feeling like shit and sit down, yawning and listening to my head throb with pain. It's a tension headache. I get them when I'm stressed. But why should I be stressed? Nothing's wrong. Nope. Nothing. Nada. Nothing at all.

"Hey, Hart, what's bothering into you today?" someone asks me.

"Shove off," I snap.

"What got your dick in a knot?"

"I'm not in the mood, you asswipe."

She's talking to my sister and they are both looking at me. Are they talking about me? I pretend not to notice and stand up and leave without eating anything.

"Lysander!"

"Go away."

"No." She stands in front of me with her arms crossed. My sister trails behind her, uncertain of what to do, if she should be there at all.

"Ellie, not now," she says, and my sister does a 180, hands up in sarcastic surrender and walks away, not saying a word. "I'm going up to the Astronomy tower."

"So?"

"You're coming with me."

"I am not."

"You are." Wren reaches out and I expect her to grab me, but she slides an arm around my waist- making it impossible for me to shake her off- and marches me up to the tower. I have longer strides than her, and I stumble every so often, so she eventually lets go.

The Astronomy tower is only used at night, and there's no one there. It's usually locked, but she pulls out a piece of wire from the frayed edge of her cloak collar and picks the lock in a few seconds.

"Why don't you just use alohomora?" I ask, hand halfway to my pocket for exactly that purpose.

"I don't have a wand," she says, and I stare at her, aghast.

"The fuck do you mean, you don't have a wand?"

"I got rid of it yesterday."

"What the _fuck_?"

"I can't use it. It's a piece of garbage." The door swings shut behind us and I hear the lock engaging again.

"so why am I up here?" I ask, reminding her- and myself- that I'm still irritated, and wait a full minute before she starts talking.

"I know we were warming up sort of last night," she blurts out, "but I didn't really realise it then because I was too preoccupied with my own problems which mainly consist of me blowing my emotional issues out of proportion and then injecting them into every situation I encounter which always leads to my oblivion to other people's emotional states, and I've never been all that good at figuring out how emotions work with other people anyways- for all of my inquiries into the matter I can never progress far, for a number of reasons which mainly include the discomfort that overwhelms me when I discuss said emotions with other people or start to get involved other people's feelings- and long story short I am sorry that I didn't realise you were being genuine earlier and I was being a total dick about it, so yeah. I'm sorry."

"...excuse me?" I ask, reeling from the barrage of words that had just slammed into me.

"I'm sorry," she says flatly. "I wanted to say it where no one else could hear."

"Did you even breathe when you said all that?"

"Shut up."

"No, no, dude, I accept the apology."

"Good."

"And I'm sorry, too. For expecting you to listen to my griping. So there's that. Great. Now we can be best friends and eat more cake together."

"Whoa, slow down there. I don't trust you _that_ much," she says, and then grins.


	7. wow seven chapters I am on a ROLL

"Hey, Ellie." She catches up with me after transfiguration.

"You skipped class again," I scold, and she shrugs goodnaturedly and walks with me down the hall towards history of magic. "So where were you?"

She shrugs again. "I just wandered around. Went to the library. Also, it's really nice outside. We should go out later."

"You can't just skip all of your classes," I protest, but she shakes her head.

"Shhh. Just let it drop, Ellie."

"But-"

She lifts an eyebrow and I fall silent. "So I wanted to show you something," she says, "and it involves me using a wand but I can't use a wand, so I'll just tell you about it now."

"Yeah?"

"There's this spell that's like _confractus_ or whatever and it's supposed to help people like you read. You can try it. See, it makes the words heavier on one side. When you're like you are, your brain flips symmetrical letters really easily, and you get them sort of scrambled, which is why you can't tell them apart sometimes. So if you make the letters uneven, it's easier to read."

"I can tell you've been reading up on it."

"I have. It might work. You should try it."

She avoids saying the word dyslexic, which I appreciate. She's also more relaxed, which is nice. I vaguely remember that she used to never shut up, and I would listen to her, fascinated with how she managed to talk for what seemed like years and never said anything all that important. It was calming because you didn't have to worry about getting into something heavy with her. But if you needed, she got down to business, which is what she's doing right now.

I'm glad that I can compare her to her old self. It means that in a way, we're returning back to normal. It's only been a few days, but it's been going well. She keeps subtly mentioning Lysander- as if I didn't notice- and I'm pretty sure she's trying to get him and me to make up. Joel, on the other had, she avoids even thinking about. I don't want to think about him, either, so we're both experts at changing the subject and we get along well.

"What did you say the spell was again?" I ask.

" _Confractus_."

"Cool. I'll try it."

Professor Binns is the oldest professor ever. He's literally a ghost. He's as boring as all hell, and I can't bear listening to him, so I try out _confractus_ on her notes, leaning across my desk to hers. She sits beside me and watches as her words thicken and darken into different shapes. It's like their weight has been thrown out to the side, making them uneven and asymmetrical.

I look at the page. Most of the letters sort themselves out, their irregularity making it easier to distinguish them, and I scan the page, consuming the words greedily. There are spots that I still can't read, but I blast straight through and skip over them

"Did it work?"

I nod furiously and flip over her notes to read the back. I hug her right there, at the back of the class. I might have teared up a little. _Maybe_.

We spend the rest of our free time that day reading- the spots that I can't read are still an annoyance, but it's amazing improvement and we sit outside for hours. I'm not sure if she's still reading with me or not, but I don't care.

"Hey, what's up?"

 _Lysander_ drops down beside us in the grass, and I stare at him, startled to see him here, uncharacteristically relaxed. He pretends not to notice. I notice. I notice how close he is. It's weird. I haven't been this near to him in my life, and it's weirder to see how close he is to _her_.

"This is our thing, isn't it?" he asks casually. "Reading together."

"No," she says, firmly pushing him away when he leans over to see what I'm reading.

"Yes it is," he insists.

"No, it's not."

"Can you two shut up?" I snap.

"Yeah, we can leave her to it. Take a walk with me," Lysander teases.

"Like hell."

"No, really. Come on." He tugs her away, and I'm left there, reading. I don't care that they're gone. I can't read fast enough, and I just sit there flying through page after page, until it starts to get darker out and I realise that there's no one else outside. I stand up, wondering what time it is, and walk towards the castle. I still have her notebook, but she's not at dinner so I can't give it to her.

It doesn't matter, because when I finish eating, me and my friends all tumble into the Ravenclaw common room, and for some reason I finally feel like I can join in with their crazy cold hedonism, and I drop her book in my room and escape into the cool spring nights swarmed with their excited, heady whispers and plans that are purposely not thought out. Oh, joel would envy me, finally able to escape what had paralyzed me before.

* * *

I can't stand being in the Hufflepuff common room. It's too warm, and it's too full of people. It's so goddamn claustrophobic that I slip out after curfew and go running around the Quidditch pitch a few times to get my pulse rate back down. It's cold out, but I don't mind it as much as the common room. It's even calming, the openness of the space out here.

Nowadays more people sneak out at night, and when I'm done running and I'm sitting on the highest bench of the bleachers looking back towards the school, I can still see wand light flashing past windows and shadows of kids scurrying around in the dark. I'm not sure what the teachers do anymore, but I'm pretty sure they know that half the school doesn't even sleep until two in the morning.

"Hi, Joel."

I swear loudly and scramble back, falling off of the bench. "When did you get here?" I snap, the breath knocked from my lungs.

"Waw you running around like a madman," my brother says, and pulls me up. I don't want to touch him, and I make a face when his hand meets mine. "Thought I would come out and tell you to go to sleep. Not that you would listen to me." He shrugs.

I study him, trying to figure out what he wants, but it seems like he's genuinely just standing here and telling me to go inside.

I look at him a little longer, and the green of his tie, tucked neatly under his sweater, catches me off guard. He never wears it, and seeing it now irritates me to the point of fury. Was he trying to it rub in? That he belonged in his house? That his status gave him power over me? Sure he was always showing it off, how much more powerful, how much more enabled he was than me, but why now? Why, when I'm worn through from the day's events and sick with being stuck inside all day?

"Fuck off," I snarl, and he smiles blandly, his eyes narrowed, the smile just a formality.

"You sound just like her," he says, and we both know who he's talking about without saying her name. We don't say her name. Not between the two of us. It was the sort of thing that we agreed not to do, even though we talked about her a lot. It was like we were trying to skirt around a problem that infected and connected us.

"I'm pretty sure everyone says that to you," I say, and Lysander laughs coldly and turns.

"Well, I'm off, brother," he says, and impulsively- angrily, because how _dare_ he brush me off like that- I reach out and shove him down the bleachers.

I watch him fall, his arms splayed out, and I can't see his face, but I'm still satisfied to see him go. He hits the stairs about halfway down and crumples into a heap, sliding down a few steps and then smacking his head on the leg of a bench and going limp. He tries to stand, but he loses his balance and tumbles down a few more steps.

I laugh, following him, and he scrambles up and lunges for me. I've got the higher ground and all I do is plant my foot on his chest and send him flying back. I can see his face this time, the angry, corner expression on his face, the _fear_ \- the fear of me! My smile widens and he hits the stairs and collapses.

I walk down, and as I pass, I step on his hand, heel first, and hear something crack. A weak, muffled groan escapes him, and I sneer at his when he lifts his head.

"See you around, _brother_ ," I hiss, and walk off.


	8. is this chapter 8

MC:

Ellie returns my journal to me the next morning. She looks tired, but happy, and I take the bloodshot of her eyes and the mess of her hair and the slouch of her shoulders as indications that she had stayed up very late. She's called back to the Ravenclaw table where her stormy, magnificent friends were recounting a story that required a lot of grand gesturing and inside jokes.

The thing about Ravenclaws were that they weren't what they were made out to be. They weren't the bookish, law abiding students. The Ravenclaws were _bored_. All the time. They always wanted to know more, to get more, to experience every single thing in the world. School was unimportant- if they didn't like the curriculum they wouldn't go to class. They were smart enough not to get caught, and Ravenclaws doing their worst could devastate anyone.

I never understood why Ellie went to Ravenclaw, because she never seemed to want to know anything. She was willing to walk away from something, and she wouldn't care that she had missed it. The only thing remotely Ravenclaw about Ellie was that she was good at making people feel bad- she had done it to Lysander for years. But I don't know. I can't read her mind.

I tuck my notebook away and continue on with eating breakfast, feeling reasonably satisfied to see Ellie happy. I do my routine check, eyes sweeping around the room from Ellie to Joel, to Lysander, but Lysander isn't there. I frown at his empty seat, and then look up slightly, to the table behind, and see Joel watching me, a smile on his face. He looks the same. I think. I look over his sweater and rumpled collar and tie, at his chapped lips and tumbleweed hair, and I can't find anything different. But he's still smiling at me, eerily content, and I stare, unnerved back at him, until I can't look at him any longer and turn. His grin widens, like he had won some something. I don't feel hungry anymore.

I go to Potions- the one class I'm actually good at- but it's a class that we have with the Hufflepuffs, and I can practically _feel_ Joel watching me form the back, the hairs on the back of my neck standing. By the end, I'm eager to escape and scramble for the doors, freaked out.

"Where are you rushing off to?" he purrs, catching my hand before I can leave the room, and my blood goes cold. I push him away and stumble back, running into someone who shoots something nasty at me, disgruntled, before Joel laughs and strolls out of the room.

* * *

Ellie:

I breeze through classes with _confractus_ and after dinner I walk outside, cooling down to a contented calm as I walk.

"Now now," I hear someone say, breaking the quiet, and I instantly recognise the voice as Joel's. "I thought you would've picked yourself up by now, brother dear."

There's an unintelligible groan, and then swearing. My other brother. His voice is strained and raspy, like he's in pain. Knowing Joel, he probably is.

"Is that right? Well, I've got news for you. I don't care."

I move towards the voices and stand at the entrance of the Quidditch pitch and see Joel hauling Lysander across the grass. Lysander's legs keep cutting out from under him, and he staggers drunkenly, crashing into Joel repeatedly, grappling for a better hold on his shirt and sliding down towards the ground. Joel doesn't care, and keeps dragging him forwards. When he sees me, he smiles.

"Hey, look, it's a family reunion," he says, smile widening.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," I say, looking at the grin on his face and freaking the fuck out. This was it. Joel has gone over the edge. We are all going to die.

"What, not happy to see us?" he asks, plastering a pout on his face and dumping Lysander on the ground. "Come here and help me carry this fuckass back to the castle."

"Oh _hell_ no," I say, backing away. "I'm not getting near you or Lysander. Whatever freaky shit is happening, you can keep it to yourself."

He sneers. "Ah, you've changed, Ellie. At least you have a fucking backbone now."

"Nope," I say, turning. "Not engaging. I'm out."

"Ellie," Lysander gasps out, pushing himself up onto his elbows painfully, and then falling on his face. He reaches out an arm, and lifts his head, reaching towards me. "Ellie, please. Don't leave me with him."

I just shake my head and get the fuck out of there.

* * *

Joel:

"Let go of me," Lysander rasps out, as he hobbles towards the castle.

"Did you really lie there the whole night?" I ask, curious.

"Bitch."

I elbow him hard in the stomach, delighted at the opportunity, and he doubles over, coughing and gagging. "What was that again?" I ask. "I didn't hear you."

He scowls, wiping the blood from his lips, and pushes me away, staggering forwards. He turns to look at me, and I can see the darkening of his eyes, I can see this malleable hate in him, and suddenly I know what it feels like- when Lysander plays hell with my head and leaves me in a heated, angry mess. This was power. These were the strings on the puppet, and I was holding them now. _I_ was in control. This was something I could get used to.

I walk beside him back up to the castle, and I can tell that he wants to run, but he can't find the energy to. He keeps trying to walk faster, but he can't keep his balance going that fast, so he drags himself alongside me, and I watch hum struggle with satisfaction.

He tumbles forwards onto the steps of the school and I leave him there, walking into the building. He mumbles something darkly and a spell zips past and ricochets off the walls. I whirl around, hand flying to my wand in my pocket, but then I stop myself. Not now. I'll have time for plenty of spells later. I had a plan. I was just going to have to stick to it. I already had first blood.

I relax, looking at his flushed face, his teeth pulled back in a snarl, and then turn and walk away.


End file.
